


On The Rocks

by impish_nature



Series: Lighthouse Keeper AU [7]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Allusions to Violence, Gen, Lighthouse Keeper AU, Mild Horror, Peril, Post-Finale, abandoned lighthouse, allusions to a real life places grim past, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 15:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13079595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: Stan and Ford find an old abandoned lighthouse on their travels. Unfortunately, it isn’t quite as abandoned as Stan had hoped.





	On The Rocks

**Author's Note:**

> (Warnings: Violence, nightmare escalations, allusions to a place’s grim past and general peril)  
> This is probably the only thing I shall be posting this week - as its kind of… 19000 words long.

_Beep. Beep. Beep-_

“Interesting, we’re starting to get close.” Ford glanced quickly between the small machine at his wrist, and the map before him, drawing a wide circle around the area they had found themselves in. His eyes darted amongst the small details and landmarks the map offered, shouting out what he had found to the deck where his brother no doubt was. “This area’s full of large outcropping rocks. We’ll need to keep that in mind as it gets darker.” He frowned, face thoughtful and perturbed. His eyes scanned over his copious measurements and the map again, double and triple checking his notes. “Irritating really, we seem to be on a straight path towards… but we’re going to have to navigate around this large outcropping instead.” His scowl deepened, disappointed annoyance marring his expression. There was the buzz of anticipation and curiosity nagging at his heels and the thought of delaying their next mystery by even a few minutes more felt torturous. “Well, nothing to be done about it…”

It was only then that he realised that there had been no response to his words, no sarcastic amusement or teasing joke about running themselves aground just for the next big adventure.

In fact, it was utterly silent. No footsteps, no humming, no distant sound of that blasted harmonica that distracted his brother to no end. No, there were no signs of life from the deck,  just the waves splashing jovially against the ships hull and the ever present beeping tone beside him, steadily getting faster and faster as they continued their slow bobbing journey forward.

His scowl vanished, more curious and concerned than frustrated at being ignored.

It was unusual for his brother to resist an opening like that.

“Stan? Stan, did you hear me?” Ford waited a few more seconds, waiting for any sign, some small noise that his brother was busy with some project of his own and couldn’t respond just yet. It happened on occasion, naturally. Though his brother may be happy to join him in his monster hunts, it didn’t mean he didn’t have his own ways of passing the time when Ford was up to his eyes in research or navigation.

If it wasn’t for the complete silence, he might have even thought his brother just couldn’t hear him over the crackling of the little radio he loved so much.

But as it was, there was something troubling about the whole scenario when there was nothing that seemed to be providing sufficient distraction from where he stood.

Curiosity took control then, Ford wandering to the doorway of the cabin without much thought, hand gripping the frame as he tilted his head outside to the deck. He called out again, louder this time. “Stan?”

…Nothing.

There was no way he didn’t hear him that time.

Ford bit at his lip, stepping out of the cabin and on to deck, eyes darting about until they landed on his brother at the railing of the boat, stood stock still, staring out to sea. He breathed a sigh of relief, shaking his head as he walked to him. “Honestly, Stan, you worried me for a second there-”

His words caught in his throat, his eyebrows furrowing as he followed Stan’s gaze out across the water to the now visible outcropping rocks he’d been muttering about only a few moments ago, surrounded by maps. “Is that a lighthouse?”

Stan jumped ever so slightly beside him, twisting towards the sound quickly, as if he’d zoned out for a few minutes and hadn’t noticed Ford appear beside him. He shook his head, rubbing at his face as if to swat away whatever thoughts had been forming, before he smiled sheepishly, an apology written in the curve of his mouth. Ford raised an eyebrow at him in amusement, the fact that he had been yelling for him crystal clear without either of them having to say it. Instead of acknowledging this, Stan’s smile twisted into something more thoughtful, eyes trailing back to the wooden structure ahead of them. “I guess so. It’s old though, looks abandoned… it’s a wonder it’s still standing if you ask me.”

Ford nodded with him, eyes ghosting over the wooden frame. It was small, far smaller than most imposing lighthouses, yet the ramshackle, derelict feel of it still left an impression on him. Stilt upon stilt, buried deep into the rocky shore, held up the lofty yet unmistakable lantern room. Beneath the distinct room was a small encasing wood frame large enough to have been one solitary living area housed below.

There was no spiral staircase, no large imposing structure that could hide floor upon floor of rooms. There were no other buildings as far as the eye could see, no hospitable area to live in.

Just a rock, and a light, and one small room, completely isolated in the middle of the water.

Just a rickety rope ladder that fell down from the structures centre, moving ever so slightly in the breeze, in amongst the large beams.

The only way to traverse up to the decrepit light.

It was strange. Though so different from the view he remembered of the light back home, the cold stone, the long thin turret, there was something still unmistakably recognisable about the building before them. Something that drew them in, let them know this was a guiding light to keep them from running aground, a beacon on the shore.

Though they both knew from experience that that didn’t always mean safety as it was intended.

It was both comforting and disconcerting. Familiar features and stark contrasts twisting away into some unidentifiable mixture of emotions that left more questions than answers in it’s wake.

From the way his brother’s mouth twisted, teeth chewing at the inside of his cheek, he felt the same.

Though Ford knew that was where they differed, the feelings that may have been raised were the same, but the response would always mark their differences.

To Stan it seemed foreboding, a cold cautious air taking over him as he took in every detail, scanning for danger, happy to observe it all from a distance.

For Ford it was more that he was drinking in the sight, converting it all to memory as the heated curiosity took over once more and he found himself itching to get closer, to explore, to travel up that swinging ladder and, presumably, see what no one had seen in decades.

His mind buzzed, sparking to life as the beeping at his wrist became insistent, signalling they were even closer to their goal. Stan seemed to light up at the prospect, turning away from the uneasy sight to stare down at Ford’s wrist as well. “Oh yeah, we’re on a mission, aren’t we? Oh well, between you and me, I’ve seen enough of lighthouses to last me a lifetime- Besides that one looks like it could fall apart at any minute, if we’re not careful.” He grimaced, the expression not quite reaching the relief in his eyes at the distraction. “So what have you got to show me this time, Sixer?”

The curiosity started to flow between them, Ford grinning brightly as Stan’s eyes lit up along with his. It was good to see his brother invested. The last few anomalies had been entertaining and far less life threatening and he was finally relaxing just that little bit more, finally allowing himself to enjoy the good moments and stop worrying that there was something terrible lying just around the corner for them.

Ford hoped this one would be just the same, an intriguing little trip filled with mysteries ready for them to solve.

He also couldn’t help the small tug to his lips as he tried to keep a straight face and nodded towards the nearby rocky shore. “I mean… I’m pretty sure the anomaly is close by in that direction.”

Stan’s smile turned to stone, his head turning with his towards the dilapidated structure. He gave a huff of sardonic irritation, eyes closing in resignation. His smile turned warmer though, the irritation turning to a huff of incredulous amusement as he shook his head, scrubbing a hand down his face as he side eyed his now positively beaming brother.

“Of course it is.”

 

* * *

 

“So, any horrors up there?”

“Ha ha, you’re full of it, Sixer.”

Ford rolled his eyes, though there wasn’t any real heat behind either of their words. Even with all of his trepidation at the sight of the lighthouse, Stan had demanded to go up first without a second thought. Just in case, of course. Ford hadn’t had it in him to argue, even if it meant a slower start to his investigation. Not when it also meant they had made that much more progress than when they had first started sailing together, when Stan would continuously try to pull him away from the latest unnerving conundrum he had pulled them both into, without even agreeing to let him just take a look.

At least Stan was willing to give things a chance now, so Ford could compromise as well.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t still tease him though. After all Stan would do the same if it was the other way around.

“This is weird.”

The muttered words bounced around the small room as Ford popped his head up through the entrance. His brother had wandered off, further into the circular area, hand dusting across a worktop in a small kitchenette as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together. “What is?”

“Just-” Stan’s arms gestured around in small jerking movements, face thoughtful and perplexed. “It looks a state, doesn’t it? Yet that rope ladder’s still pretty strong for something that looks like its been left out here alone for years. Not to mention, the beams and wood floor are still holding well enough to support our weights- it doesn’t  _feel_  like anything’s going to fall around our ears. It’s all solid and sturdy and in good nick in a way.” His eyebrows furrowed further as he turned back to the kitchenette. “But…”

“But?”

“The cabinets in here are all broken apart.”

Ford raised an eyebrow. “Like they’re falling apart? I mean, that’s not that weird considering the age-”

“Yeah, I know, but it _is_ weird when nothing else is that damaged. And no, that’s not what I meant. I meant that it’s literally been broken apart.” He gestured Ford forward, pointing at the missing doors, the left in screws where another tabletop used to be. “See? They’ve all been taken apart. And it looks like there was a dividing wall here at some point that’s gone as well. Doesn’t that seem odd to you? Why take the cabinet doors?”

Ford hummed, thoughtful but mostly indifferent. It was strange, but nothing to warrant the interest Stan seemed to be giving it. “True… maybe another boat came along at some point and needed some supplies?”

Stan’s face seemed to clear, though it wasn’t a look that said he was truly convinced. “Maybe… that’s fair.” His eyes lit up, the concern fading fast. “Hey, I wonder if there’s anything left that will be useful for us.” His grin widened, eyes twinkling as he turned to Ford. “What do you reckon?”

“…Really? Is that really where your mind went with that?”

Stan shrugged, still grinning away. “True, if people were desperate enough to grab the cabinets in here there’s probably not much else of use anywhere. Still worth a shot.”

A floorboard creaked above them as he spoke. Both their heads snapped up at the age old wood settling around them, the stuttering groan far too close to footsteps for either of their liking. They looked at one another, a quick silent conversation snapping between them before the tension broke and a giddy bubble of laughter escaped them both.

“Did we really just get spooked by this old lighthouse  _creaking_? Like it wouldn’t do that?”

Ford huffed, shaking his head. “We’ll be jumping at our own shadows next.”

Stan, still chuckling, nudged his head towards the small wooden ladder into the lantern room above. “Come on, lets go say hello to the keeper.”

“Old colleague of yours?” Ford couldn’t resist the good-humoured banter as Stan made quick work of the room, his earlier trepidation seemingly discarded along the way as his unanswered questions about the place for once made him as inquisitive as Ford.

Maybe it was just the familiarity of the lighthouse rooms, the thought of all that time spent in a lantern room himself that made him more willing to be up there now than when they had been in their boats safe little haven.

Or maybe he was realising there wasn’t all that much to be worried about.

He knew what kind of ghosts waited in these old dusty structures.

“You know, come to mention it…”

“No- do not try and give me one of your old tour stories and pretend it was true. I’m your brother, I know when you’re lying.” There was a flash of white teeth as Stan’s grin grew impossibly wider at his words. He shrugged, a look that said ‘your loss’ in every gesture before his face turned thoughtful and hopeful once more.

“Oh. I wonder if there’s any oil up there still, that could come in handy.”

“I’d be surprised if there’s even still glass in the lantern.”

“…Well, now that just feels wrong. you don’t mess with a lighthouse lantern.”

 

* * *

 

“OK, I thought downstairs was weird, but this is just plain strange.”

Ford couldn’t help but agree, interest now piqued.

The lantern was completely intact.

For a place that hadn’t seen a soul in years, the room seemed for all intents and purposes… pristine.

Sure it was dusty, it had obviously not been maintained to any degree, but at the same time, there wasn’t an ounce of rust visible on the gleaming metal holding the lantern glass, not one cracked lens or rotted wood beam.

There was even oil ready and waiting, cleaning materials, all the supplies needed ready for the next keeper to occupy it.

And as much as Stan had scrunched his face up disgustedly at the thought of a broken lantern, deep down he had known that Ford was correct. They were about to enter the derelict, broken version of the lantern room he had become accustomed to back home, one that hadn’t been looked after, hadn’t been maintained as it should have been. Or worse, one that had been pilfered for parts during it’s lifetime, leaving behind only a husk of it’s former self.

He was just as surprised as Ford at this find.

And more than a little bit unnerved again, the odd nervous pit in his stomach reopening at the sight.

This was definitely Ford’s anomaly alright.

He just wasn’t convinced they’d be happy once they got some answers about the place.

“Fascinating, it’s like it’s being held in some kind of stasis.” Ford continued his circuit around the lantern, eyes travelling this way and that as he took in every minute detail he could in as short a time as possible: the balcony outside, the central lantern, the desk to one side, books still strewn across it, the seat where the keeper must have sat and watched the world go by, keeping the lantern lit throughout the long nights.

“Yeah… fascinating is not what I’d call it…”

Ford gave him a disbelieving look, one he returned in kind, scowling deeply.

“What? It’s just weird alright? When you said you’d found an anomaly I was thinking-” His arms gestured wildly, a few fake punches thrown as he span around, before flopping his arms uselessly at his sides, his mouth twisting like he’d tasted something bitter. “Not… this. Not an old lighthouse with nothing inside it.”

“You can’t say there’s nothing here-”

“No, but it’s not an interesting case, right?” Stan had a desperate edge to his gaze though Ford didn’t seem to register it. “Let’s go find some sea monster or some- mermaids! You keep promising me mermaids and you have yet to deliver on that-”

“What are you talking about? This place is amazing.” Ford missed the scrunched up nose, the word 'amazing?’ mouthed silently in disdain as he instead turned back around to open his arms wide and look out across the sea again. “There’s something here, and I’m going to figure out what it is.”

And with that he was gone, journal in hand and face completely distracted. He began to mutter under his breath, scribbling away as if the entire world had fallen around him and there was nothing left but this puzzle to solve.

Stan rolled his eyes.

Considering it was Ford, the world might as well have for all the focus he could give it.

“Yeah, well, while you do that, I’ll be back at the shore doing some fishing before the tide comes in.” He turned back towards the ladder, shaking his head as he couldn’t help but scoff loudly, knowing full well his brother couldn’t hear his sarcasm whilst he was stuck inside his own head, nose deep in his book.

“ _Amazing_. This place is  _amazing?_  Of course it is, what was I thinking?”

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t focus on fishing.

He couldn’t focus on his harmonica.

Stan growled, feet tapping away on the Stan'O'War’s deck as he paced back and forth. He could see Ford’s silhouette every now and then, mirroring his movements in the lantern room but he knew that Ford’s pacing was far more energetic, anticipation and a mystery to be solved fuelling every darting circuit around the room. Too much energy, too much curiosity to stay in one place for long.

Stan’s pacing instead felt like too much anxiety buzzing through his veins, fight or flight kicking in, even when there was no physical presence to cause it.

He knew there was something there though, just out of sight and mind, of course he did. It was just out of reach, grating on the edge of all his senses.

Another wisp, another story.

Another ghost.

And he hated that Ford was up there, desperate to find it.

_As if you can say anything._

Stan scowled at his own thoughts, his footsteps growing heavier as he stomped another loop around the deck. “I was looking for  _him_! I knew who and what I was looking for! There’s no knowing what-” He sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at his temples as he skidded to a halt in a moment of irritation at everything; himself, Ford, the goddamn lighthouse they’d found themselves at.

“Why, of all things, did it have to be a lighthouse? I could have stayed at home if I wanted to stay in a haunted lighthouse.”

Stan opened his eyes again, trailing them over the old wooden structure before him, the way the waves crashed against the rocks, the way the wood creaked and stood firm against the tides.

The way Ford’s figure flitted and scurried around the glass top.

His scowl deepened.

_God, this place is hideous._

There was a slight pang of guilt in his chest at the thought, the image of the place he had called home for so many years flashing behind his eyes before he shook his head.

_Hey, my lighthouse was perfect, it looked great at all times._

_Well, most of the time._

_…Some of the time._

_…At least my lighthouse was stone and not stuck out in the middle of nowhere._

Stan growled, eyes still glued to his brother moving back and forth, annoyance flowing through him like the tide as he tried to wade through the nonsensical thoughts rattling and ricocheting around his skull.

_Great, now I’m feeling homesick? What is this?_ _Stupid lighthouses, stupid anomalies, stupid brothers and their stupid nerd brains-_

“Gah, what is there to do around here. I’m losing my mind just sitting here.” Stan span quickly, swift long strides over to his radio in a moment of desperation. He fumbled for it, heart lifting at the small crackling voices, the half heard music that was just there out of reach as he fiddled with the dials.

He swore profusely, the string of expletives skipping out across the waves, a few moments later when he couldn’t focus in on any of the stations. All of them were just out of range, none of them ringing clear no matter how hard he tried to catch them. Instead, crackling white noise filled the boat with whispers that made his hackles raise higher and higher with every half heard word, with every sound garbled between stations that made sentences he wasn’t sure he was hearing correctly.

He was even sure, during his attempts, he heard angry yelling. Nothing distinct, just snapping crackles in between the lines, blurred beyond recognition.

“It’s nothing but white noise, this isn’t helping.”

Stan clicked the radio off with a sharp snap, the sound dying instantly back to wind and waves. He gave a sigh of relief, logic taking centre stage. It was just white noise, it was nothing real, nothing concrete, just mixed up signals between different stations distorting and his brain connecting dots that weren’t really there.

It didn’t help though, he never had been good at being logical. He could tell himself over and over again that it was all in his head but they were, after all, here for a reason. One that was most probably, highly illogical.

And that reason was up there with his brother, this looming unknown phantom that stretched with the shadows cast by the lighthouse, ebbed and flowed around them with the tide, most assuredly there but impossible to prove all at once.

Stan grit his teeth, snarling out another spray of curses before he stormed into the cabin, eyes darting around in quick, urgent sweeps. This wouldn’t do, there was nothing for him to really focus on, nothing calming or collecting, so if that was the case, he’d solve the mystery from here. It all seemed simple really, his brother over complicating things as he waited for a sign, wanting irrefutable evidence and begging for answers that Stan was sure could be found if he just took a step back and really thought about what he was looking at.

He gave a huff of ironic amusement as his finger skimmed along the map that Ford had left out, tapping loudly when he found his mark.

When had the tables turned this much? When had Ford started jumping into mysteries wholeheartedly without doing any research first?

…Probably since he himself started trying to stall the inevitable and keep them looking for more and more clues before they first stepped foot anywhere.

His ironic laughter turned into a deep sigh, the truth not entirely wanted. But he knew it was the case. Ford just wanted to solve some mysteries, sometimes half the fun of it was just jumping into the unknown.

The thrill of the adventure.

…Stan couldn’t really argue when he could feel it himself, the old emotion he thought had been well and truly destroyed years ago, rising higher and higher like the tide whenever Ford spoke of lost treasure and mysterious fluid creatures that hid amongst the waves.

Whenever they caught a glimpse of something - bright, glittering gold basking in the sunlight or shimmering silver bathed in moonlight. Whenever they heard the calls, the songs, long lost sounds that weaved through the breeze and danced across the deck towards them. The awe, the intrigue and overwhelming curiosity that took his breath away as they found themselves staring at creatures that were hardly ever seen, were usually confined to the pages of a book that kids would one day decide were nothing more than fairy stories. Fanciful creations to keep them dreaming and imagining until they grew too old for the notion.

But they knew better, they knew otherwise.

They had the chance to see it all, with their own eyes, to bring back trinkets and photos to show the kids back home just what wonders were really out there, just waiting to be seen if you only knew where to look.

This trip had given him back that childish sense of adventure, that yearning to discover, to solve, to hunt for treasures that had been lost for centuries.

And there it lingered, fizzling below the surface of his skin, no matter how much he tried to layer caution and hesitation over every new puzzle Ford threw at him.

This was… different though.

There wasn’t any bright gems of intrigue to really grab his attention, no bubbling excited explanation from his brother, no small wisp of a notion that this story had any sign of a happy ending.

All he saw was dust and ash. This entire rocky scene was cold, grey and lifeless. It lacked all the small signs he’d come to associate with the fun adventure him and his brother were on.

…He just wasn’t a lover of ghost stories.

Not anymore.

Not after everything.

“I would have thought Sixer would have lost the taste for them as well, considering- but then again he probably thinks this can’t  _just_  be a haunted lighthouse we’ve stumbled across.” Stan’s eyes trailed the shelf above the table, mouth twisted in his musings before he finally caught sight of what he was looking for. “There, that’s the one.” It took a few moments to get to the book in question, stuffed right at the bottom of a pile of haphazardly left journals crammed full of post it notes and scribbled musings. “Honestly, you of all people should look after your books better. Just because it’s not a textbook doesn’t mean it can’t come in handy.” He tutted to himself as he wormed the small paperback out, trying hard not to drop a stack of heavy hardbacks on his head in the process, even if the irritation held a soft flare of affectionate mischief at it’s core.

He still remembered Ford’s rolling eyes and exasperated spluttering when Stan had presented the book to him.

It had been an impulse buy at a small port they’d docked in, the book catching his eye gleefully, unable to resist the notion blooming brightly in the whirring of his mind just how great a present it would be for the next leg of their adventure.

Ford’s reaction hadn’t disappointed.

_“Really, Sta_ _n? Nautical Ghost Stories? You really think anything of value is going to be in there?”_

_“What? You never know. I’m sure it’ll come in handy one day.”_

_“Honesty, Stan, that’s hardly a scientific journal. You might as well believe every gullible tourist back at the Mystery Shack. I mean look at the front cover!”_

_“Wow, never thought you’d judge a book by it’s cover.”_

_“Stan!”_

_“Alright, alright, I’m teasing! I’m just teasing. I thought it would be good fun for a boring day or two, was all… Besides, I was curious if it had one story in particular.”_

_“Oh?”_

_“Yeah, I thought you might be in it. What? You technically are a nautical ghost story- or, were rather-”_

He could still feel the rather impressive shove his brother had given him, not to mention the strangled, high pitched, indignant noise that meant his brother had absolutely no words to throw back at him.

Stan shook his head, the smile fading as he flipped to the index of the book. As fun as it was to remember that particular moment of sibling annoyance, reminiscing wasn’t part of his plan in that moment.

He glanced back at the map a few times, scanning the surrounding bay and all it’s small details, leaning down closer, eyes squinting to read the minute text beside each landmark before returning to the book, palm flat against the page as he went through every line.

He gave a vicious grin, a bark of victory as he ran his finger over a particular number and flicked through the pages quickly to find the specific story he was after.

“Hah! Told you this book would come in handy.”

The lighthouse gave a rather ominous creak outside, his eyes snapping from the book up to the porthole, to where his brother stood, within an instant. He snapped the book shut, taking note of the number again before stuffing it unceremoniously under his arm. He grabbed a few other items, his plans slightly changed as he realised that maybe the cabin of their boat was not the best place to zone out in and ignore the rest of the world.

At least, not until his brother stopped being a pain and got back on the boat as well.

He set himself up, ready to spring into action if the need arose before settling down once more, the book warm and familiar in his hands against the biting cold of the ocean spray.

“Now then, what do you have to say for yourself?”

 

* * *

 

_Beep, Beep, Be-_

“Blasted thing. No help at all.”

Ford’s search for answers was turning out to be a fruitless endeavour.

A downright useless, frustrating, waste of time.

He growled, a bubble of pent up impatience overflowing from his chest and out of his throat as he sharply muted the small anomaly detector at his wrist. At first it had been helpful, fuelled him on as the beeping became a fast paced hum of activity, but now it was becoming a constant reminder that what he was here for was nowhere to be found.

But it  _was_  here, it had to be here. According to all his equipment he was right on top of it.

So why was nothing happening?

Sure, the lighthouse was interesting, but there was only so long he could look around the two confined rooms before that grew tiresome. They may be strange, locked in a discordant stasis from one another and the world around them, but that didn’t really constitute a big enough fish to hold his attention for long.

Yet, even so, the anomaly detector had continued to beep, to confirm that there was something big here, a vast amount of energy that still lingered in this particular spot from times long past. This place should have been teeming. Fizzling and buzzing with activity.

There should have been something, some high string of emotion caught in this place that showed itself as soon as they entered.

Not this… hush, this emptiness frozen in time, hollow and lost and devoid of- well, everything.

The only thing that kept him from giving up entirely was the feeling of being watched, that subtle hint to the air that something was watching and waiting from the corners of the room. Biding it’s time, ready to catch him when he would be unaware.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen. If only it would give up on that ridiculous, futile notion and just show itself, they could get on to the fun part of this investigation.

Not this mind numbing, infernal waiting game.

It was taking almost all of his attention to stay awake, pacing back and forth to keep himself in the present.

Ford groaned, halting what must have been his hundredth rotation of the small lantern. He glanced up at the ceiling in defeat, shoulders slumping as he went. “This is absurd. I’m chasing blasted shadows.” He looked down at his detector, eyebrows furrowed as he gave it a vicious shake. “Stupid thing must be broken. There’s nothing here, nothing really interesting at least.” He gave the room another critical eye, sure there must be a logical explanation to the room’s apparent upkeep, something normal and bog-standard and generally not what he had hoped for when they found themselves staring at the imposing wooden structure.

Maybe there was something here, some small mystery.

But it wasn’t worth anymore of his time, that he was sure of.

Another strangled bitter noise escaped him as he glowered, stomping his way back towards the ladder down. He lashed out at the table leg as he passed, just a small kick but one filled with venom at the disappointing room. A vindictive pleasure filled him as a pen rattled across the top, the sheaves of paper shifting and scattering away from each other as if panicked by the unexpected hit.

None of them had been useful to him, normal every day logs that he had seen Stan accidentally still tend to keep from time to time. Information on the weather, the wind speed, the air pressure- base scientific notes that were useful for navigation and had probably helped the previous keeper during his work but fell short in information that Ford required at that particular moment.

“Waste of my time-”

_Shouldn’t even be here!_

_Waste of space-_

The vicious, vindictive words in his head seemed to explode, echoing around the room. He paused for a second, blinking owlishly as the anger ignited, vibrating through the wood around him, trembling all the way down to the waves crashing on the rocks below, a cacophony of sounds inside his head that he couldn’t quite seem to control, couldn’t put a stop to no matter how hard he tried to think rationally through them.

And then the bubble burst, the sounds no longer confined to the room he stood in, his eyes widening as he realised it wasn’t his voice he could hear.

The remarks grew muffled, indistinct. Cracking curses and resounding yells from below him. The sound of scraping- wood against wood, ringing ceramic clattering against something solid and heavy.

Floorboards creaked, thunderous footfalls mingling in with the sharp snapping words.

And within an instant the frozen hesitation, the patient curious standstill he had found himself at, melted into pure concern.

Something was wrong.

“Stan?”

The wind slammed into the glass beside him as he began to move forward, diverting his attention with it’s ferocity, howling in tandem with the still indistinct yelling from below.

He flinched at another loud crack from below, wood splintering and groaning under a heavy weight.

There was a strange finality to the noise that sent a lead weight sinking through his gut. An abrupt silence, a breath of shock, before the cursing started up afresh.

_What’s happened? Has he hurt himself?_

_Has something hurt him?_

He was off before the train of thought had finished, adding his own cacophony of sounds as he clattered down the rickety staircase that led to the room below. He raced down as worry flooded through his veins, hoping against hope that he hadn’t been too distracted in his work, lost to the challenge of the mystery and hadn’t noticed that the entity he was looking for was just with someone else entirely.

_Idiot. Why didn’t I keep an eye on him? We had no idea what we were dealing with when we arrived-_

His feet fell out from under him, missing the last step on the ladder as he entered the living area of the lighthouse. As soon as his foot hit the floor, the snarling and yelling, instead of growing distinct, vanished entirely.

The wind died down, no longer clattering against the panes, the outbursts of crunching, crashing movement halted in an instant.

“St-Stan?”

Nothing.

There was no sign of him, nothing out of place, or at least nothing new. The room was in the same disrepair it had been in when they had first arrived, solidly built but half dismantled.

No broken plates, no splintered wood.

No brother, crashing angrily about in pain, nor fighting some malicious creature that neither of them had been prepared for-

“Stan? Stan, where are you?”

Ford’s voice cracked, loud and unwelcome in the silence, but he ignored the resentful air as he took a wobbling step into the oppressive tension around him.

There was nothing there, at least not in any way his senses could perceive it, yet he felt like he’d interrupted something he shouldn’t have ever been aware of. Something private, something burning and bubbling, amplified by the small enclosed space in such a remote location. A torrential pouring rain of emotion, storm clouds that had grown bigger, darker and more dangerous by the second-

And then he had stepped into the fray and it had all suddenly ceased to exist.

But what had it done with Stan?

“Knucklehead! If you can hear me-”

“What?! Sixer, are you saying something up there? Cause if you expect me to be able to hear you from the top of that damned lighthouse I swear to god-”

The tight coil around Ford’s chest, the constricting fear that was making it hard to breathe, released, his breaths coming in easier as he heard Stan’s exasperated tone. His heart beat a painful rhythm against his chest, all his expended anxiety pulsing out of him in waves of pure relief as he stumbled towards the trapdoor exit down to the rocks below. He knelt down beside it, sticking his head out over the hole to see his brother staring back up at him, head tilted backwards, eyebrow raised and face questioning.

“You alright up there, Sixer?”

“I- y-yes, of course- I mean…” Ford shook his head, running a shaky hand through his hair in abject confusion. He couldn’t help but give his brother a once over, even though his attitude proved that nothing was untoward. His body language didn’t change that fact, each observation another slip of evidence to loosen the knots of stress that had mounted up. It was almost comical. Whilst he’d been running around upstairs, hearing arguments and fights, panicking and fretting about what he might find, his brother seemed to have been relaxing, an apathetic nonchalance, body and expression utterly unphased. And during it all, he had found the time to drag out a fold up chair from inside their little boat, set himself up on a flat rock at the base of the lighthouse in as comfy a position as possible.

He’d even set up a fishing rod, of all things, lounging back with some light reading while he waited for the fish to bite.

_Fishing_! While Ford panicked that he was fighting for his life against some unknown entity he had been fishing.

Sometimes he wondered why he even worried.

“You sure? You don’t sound alright…” Stan seemed to be appraising him as sharply as he himself was doing to him, an offence that made Ford’s hackles rise ever so slightly.

Of all the nerve, for Stan to be worried about him after he had just rushed to his defence!

Ford bit back on the reproachful voice, rolling his shoulders as he took a mental step back from the strange emotional turmoil that had begun to brew. It took a moment, just sitting back and looking on the scene as a whole, seeing it for what it really was. “So you heard me but not all the commotion?” The words came out as more of a musing than an actual question, wondering what on earth it was he’d heard if it hadn’t been Stan causing the ruckus.

Stan had no idea what had spooked him, that much seemed obvious. If he wasn’t the culprit, as he was making quite clear, then Ford was sure the cacophony would have brought him halfway up the rope ladder, if not into the living quarters themselves by the time Ford had made his way down from the lantern room.

Stan wouldn’t have heard all that noise and not done the exact same thing he himself had done, wouldn’t have left him to deal with whatever the adversary was all alone, without jumping into the fray himself.

“Commotion?” Stan’s nonchalance faded quickly into suspicion, half out of his chair at Ford’s words, which only confirmed Ford’s new hypothesis. “What commotion? What’s going on up there, Sixer?”

“Nothing, nothing- apparently, at least. I… Well, actually I thought it was you.” Ford’s mouth narrowed into a thin line at Stan’s affronted expression, mouth open ready to argue. “What? I heard a ruckus and assumed, it’s not exactly a large leap when it comes to you, now is it?”

“Yeah, yeah, well it wasn’t, alright? Must have just been the wind or something. Lighthouses make a lot of weird noises that you wouldn’t really expect, believe me.” Stan rolled his eyes, flopping back into his seat with a soft huff of indignation. “So, are we done here? I haven’t heard any of your usual excited eureka moments and I certainly haven’t noticed you pick a fight you can’t win, so I’m  _assuming_  this has been a wasted trip. Beside, the fish aren’t even biting.” Stan narrowed his eyes, glancing out at the waves in disappointment and kicking his bucket, completely unimpressed by the lack of a haul he could have at least pretended was a day well spent. He tilted back in his chair, eyes back towards him, tired and bored, book listless in his lap. “Well? You coming down or what?”

“No… Not quite yet.” Ford sat back on his heels, ducking back out of Stan’s sight. His gaze turned thoughtful as he surveyed the room once more. The oppressive aura had dissipated at some point during their conversation but there was still an air of resentment hanging, the lingering echoes of an argument that hadn’t been between them, nor come to a satisfying conclusion.

Those voices definitely hadn’t been in his head.

“I think I’d like to look around some more, just for a little bit longer.”

Perhaps there was more to this place, after all.

 

* * *

 

“Ford?”

“Hmm?”

“Ford, what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re doing something far too stupid for my genius brother to actually be doing. So I thought I should ask and see what you’re  _really_  up to.”

On any other occasion Stan would have been satisfied and proud by Ford’s little exasperated huff at his words.

But as it was, he was just intensely worried that Ford was about to prove all of his assumptions correct.

“There’s something here and I intend to figure out what it is.” Ford counted off a number of items in his head, moving things around as he checked that he’d brought them all up with him from the boat, ignoring the way Stan rubbed at his temples, as if a headache was forming behind his eyes, at his words. “So far, whatever it is has decided to stay hidden, but that might change the later into the day it gets. Some creatures are nocturnal, after all-”

“And so your brilliant plan is to stay the night?” Stan took his glasses off for a second, scrubbing his eyes further in the hopes that this was all some ridiculous mirage and his brother wasn’t willingly deciding to sleep in a haunted lighthouse when their boat was literally sitting not fifty yards away. “Of course you are.  _Spectacular_.”

Of course he had been right.

He wasn’t sure why he was in any way surprised by these antics, they were hardly new.

Besides, he would have been blind not to know this was exactly what Ford was doing when he finally descended to where he sat and made more than one quick trip to their boat, his backpack heavy and full each time he went back up the ladder.

It was only on the third trip that Stan determined he was actually being that idiotic and thought it best to follow him up and put a stop to this monumentally stupid plan.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was so against this anomaly, it wasn’t particularly dangerous, at least not in the sense of other much more lively- and dare he even think it,  _fun-_  mythical creatures they came across, but all in all this one felt far more insidious, far more tense than their usual habit of tackling a beast they really should have known better than to mess with.

Maybe it was because he’d dealt with this type of being for far too long.

Maybe it was because it no longer felt like a mystery to be solved, more a well known fact that he didn’t really feel like revisiting on a daily basis.

Regardless, he was not staying up here for the night. That was for damned sure.

And if his brother thought  _he_  was staying up here- well he had another thing coming.

“And what’s wrong with our perfectly good boat at the bottom of the ladder?” Stan leant against the worktop, slowly pushing the items Ford had scattered around the room into one pile in the hopes of slinking at least some of them back down without him noticing. “I take personal offence at you choosing this place over the Stan'O'War to sleep in. What did our boat ever do to you?”

His twin’s infuriating sigh, did little but incense him further.

As did his rather patronising voice.

“Now Stan, you and I both know that many wary anomalies, such as this one, would rather stay where they are familiar.”

“That’s what you think’s happening? You think this thing is just too  _shy_?”

“ _Stan_.” The word was clipped, filled with barely held together irritation that spoke volumes for Stan getting right under his skin, precisely where he wanted to be at that moment in time. A thorn in his brother’s side until he finally gave in and had a proper conversation with him, a position where he could actually win instead of being uselessly brushed off to one side whilst his brother continued to do as he pleased. “Look, I won’t be able to research anything from the boat if the presence stays up here. And if it won’t come to me, then I have to go to it, it’s just the way it goes.” He glanced up for a moment, an almost apologetic smile on his face as he looked from Stan to the window with a shrug. “I’m sure the Stan'O'War will forgive me. Just this once.”

“Oh, will she now. Well, don’t blame me when-"

"Did you manage to catch any fish?”

“-she decides to throw you off into the water- wait, what? Have I done what now?”

“Caught any fish. You were down there long enough.”

Stan’s hackles raised as Ford went back to his research, no longer deigning to look up from his books even as he spoke, the words nonchalant and uninterested, as if he knew that Stan had wasted his day away,  _unlike himsel_ _f_. Stan begged to differ, puffing out his chest at what he could only deem was his twin’s lofty, high and mighty attitude. “Yes, I did,  _actually_.” He perked up in a stroke of brilliance, eyes lighting up as he clapped his hands together. “Enough for a bang up meal tonight back on the-”

“Excellent. I hoped so. I’ve already taken the initiative and brought our camping stove up. We shouldn’t need to make any more trips back to the boat now until we’re done with our investigation.” He hummed thoughtfully, tapping again at his book as he scrutinised the room, almost forgetting Stan was still there with him. “Well… maybe one more trip is in order…”

“What? No, no, no, I draw the line at that.” Stan crossed his arms in front of his chest, waving them around in agitation. “You want dinner, you come back to the boat.”

Ford had the audacity to look over his glasses at him in that moment, eyebrow raised haughtily. “Should I go grab the bucket myself then?”

_“No.”_

Ford shrugged, a playful, loathsome smirk to his features as he turned away again. “Fair, I did think you’d want to put all your fishing gear away yourself, after I accidentally got all the wire tangled up last time-” Stan hissed at the memory, pulling another twitch to Ford’s mouth. It had taken him hours to fix that, not that he’d really minded the rather monotonous work so much as not being able to sit and relax when they had an afternoon off for once because he hadn’t noticed until it was too late. “-That’s what I thought. I’ll be up here if you need me.”

“Where else would you be, ey?” Stan rolled his eyes as Ford hummed noncommittally, well and truly entrenched in his research again. Instead he gave up for the moment, following his brothers advice to put his old gear away before anything happened to it. As much as he could have bought new when they finally set out on their journey, and even Ford had offered to do as such, he hadn’t seen the point. The old rods and reels had served him well over the years, and he wasn’t about to let them fall into disrepair just because his brother was being as difficult as ever. He gathered up everything he could in one go, eyeing up the bucket beside the fold out chair he hadn’t managed to get under one arm as hard as he tried. “I’ll be back for both of you in a bit.” He muttered darkly, eyes glancing up to the floor above him to make sure his brother wasn’t listening. “See how he likes it when he has to come down here for dinner.”

He whistled loudly as he went on his way, happy and sure in his foolproof plan.

Even stumbling on his way to the boat, having picked up far too much stuff for one trip, didn’t dampen his mood.

After all, it wasn’t like anyone was around to see him trip, his brother’s nose would most definitely be too deep in that journal of his by now.

…Or so he’d thought.

One short, fairly quick trip to and from the boat however, left him staring down in shock at his folded chair, standing neatly ready for him to take away, propped up against one of the lighthouse struts.

The bucket was nowhere in sight.

“Son of a-” Stan kicked at the strut, his chair clattering to the floor, to ring out along with his own fizzling fury.

Of course he had.

Stan’s head snapped upwards, eyes narrowing as if he could see his brother’s smug expression through the floor.

Of  _course_  he had! Why hadn’t he thought of that?

He came very close to clapping a hand to his forehead, but he resisted, instead scrubbing a hand down his face in a moment of resignation. A soft whine escaped him, pure disappointment and disapproval as he continued to rub at his eyes. “Man, I’ve got a headache.”

The waves crashed behind him, a flutter of sea spray hitting the back of his neck as the wind tugged at his jacket, dragging his attention away from the bottom of the lighthouse. His expression turned thoughtful, his mouth a thin line as he reasoned with himself.

He  _could_  just go back to the boat.

Leave Ford to it.

If he wanted to stay up there that much, maybe he should let him.

But that didn’t mean  _he_ had to.

That would show him, wouldn’t it? Ford would never expect him to let him get himself in and out of trouble on his own. Maybe it would be good for him, both of them. Stan could have a peaceful evening in the boat, just like he had decided and Ford could do his research without his nagging brother hovering over him.

He stood there for a few moments, thoughts trickling through like treacle, each one another little voice in agreement.

And then he gave the most world weary sigh he could muster.

“Who am I fooling? Of course I’m going back up there.”

He grit his teeth in determination, hands clapping down on the nearest rung of the ladder. “And I’m bringing you back down with me, you ignorant nerd.”

His words were a lot more confident than he was actually feeling about the matter, but he was counting on his pure resolve and stubbornness to convince his brother.

…And if that failed, maybe he’d just try and bodily drag him from the building… somehow. He’d think up Plan B properly later when it came to that.

…He already knew there was a high chance it would come to that.

After all, convincing his brother that this was a terrible idea was going to be a bigger pain in the neck than being knocked about by that giant sea serpent they’d faced two weeks ago.

It would probably take longer than getting the upper hand in that particular fight as well.

_And_  be far more tedious.

At least trying to punch that monstrous thing had been a _fun_  challenge. And one that, regardless of what Ford said, he had succeeded in doing. And he would succeed in this as well.

No matter how long it took.

He sighed deeply, settling himself into the strange concoction of the most annoying sibling he could be, whilst simultaneously being the voice of reason, for however many hours it would take to get his brother to at the very least do as he requested even it was begrudgingly and without conceding victory to him.

…Not for the first time, Stan wondered how they got themselves into these predicaments.

He really should not be allowed to be anyone’s voice of reason, let alone his brother’s.

 

* * *

 

Stan had forgotten just how good Ford had gotten at tuning him out.

Stan had forgotten many things, whilst stuck in the stubborn loop that he was _right_  and that Ford needed to acknowledge that.

Things that were now coming back to bite him.

“Shit.”

Really, he only had himself to blame. Well, no, he reasoned with himself. He had Ford to blame. But he blamed himself for not paying attention to their surroundings when it was obvious that Ford was completely oblivious and uncaring in that regard.

He blamed himself for not being able to get it through his brother’s thick skull that this was one of the dumbest plans that he’d had on record.

_Well, no, that’s not fair. He’s had lots of poor ideas, much worse than this when it comes to walking straight into danger-_

_No, actually, you know what? We’re high up above the sea in a rotten old lighthouse that could fall around our ears at any moment. I’m being very fair._

“…What?”

Stan turned back to him, a deep set scowl across his face as he looked between him and the trapdoor down to the boat. “It’s high tide.”

“Hmm?” Ford shuffled forward, eyes darting down the hole in the floor to see the rocks below had submerged beneath the waves, their boat now a swim away from where they had left it moored to the edge of the outcropping. “Oh.” He blinked up at Stan before smiling brightly, blissfully ignorant to Stan’s affronted disbelief. “Guess we’re definitely staying up here tonight.”

“You can’t be- Come  _on_ , Sixer!”

Ford really didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

 

* * *

 

It didn’t stop Stan trying though.

“OK, so- I’ve had a look at the old tide tables in here and we should actually be able to leave again in four or five hours.” Stan presented the small book to Ford with a winning, victorious smirk. “Sure, it’ll be dark out at that point and we’ll have to be careful on the rocks but I don’t see why we can’t just go back to the ship then.”

“Ridiculous. We’ll have to take all the stuff back as well. At what? Two in the morning? We might as well just stay up hear and do it all at first light.” Ford didn’t even deign to look up from his journal, scribbling away as he sat on an old rickety chair he’d found that still seemed usable.

“But-”

“You said it yourself, that would be dangerous and it’s a risk we don’t need to take, we’ve got everything we need up here, just as I planned.” He paused in his scribbling, closing his eyes as he heard his brother’s muttered grumbles under his breath. “Honestly, Stan, you said it yourself. It’s just an old lighthouse. Why are you so determined for us to go back to the boat? It’s not like you think anything is here, now do you?”

Silence met his words, damnable and irritating in it’s own way. Of course he wanted Stan to stop complaining and let him get on but he also knew his brother, just like he knew himself, and giving up quite so abruptly and easily even when beaten just wasn’t either of their fortes.

Which meant that Stan was most probably silently mocking him whilst he continued his work, mimicking him and shaking his head as a way to alleviate tension.

He could practically feel the rolling eyes in the back of his skull. “Stan, stop it. I don’t need to turn around to know what you’re up to.”

No response.

Ford paused yet again in his work, this time his senses more heightened to his environment. This was the moment that Stan would stand up straight, head held high and deny all knowledge of what Ford was talking about, though he wouldn’t look him in the eye because they both knew it was one of his least convincing lies. He’d then either walk away from the entire debacle, a hard feat in the current circumstances, or continue on with his side of the debate now that he had gotten his brother well and truly distracted from his writing.

And yet- none of that was happening.

Stan was still silent behind him. There were no footsteps, no small rustles or clinks that said his brother was still making faces behind him or doing anything of the sort.

A bone weary sigh left Ford, thoroughly resigned to the fact that Stan had won in getting his full attention in that instance. “Alright, if this is just a new ploy to get me to pay attention to you, then well done, you’ve succeeded- Stan?”

Stan wasn’t even looking towards him.

Ford put his pen down in the crease of his book, scrutinising his brother. He was stood beside their small pile of belongings, having gleefully squirrelled them all back together in the hopes of whisking them back to the boat, presumably when he thought Ford wasn’t looking. But all thought of them seemed to have been disregarded in that moment. The small tide tables book was limp in his hand, his proud find now of little importance from the way Ford was sure he may drop it at any moment if he wasn’t careful, though he wasn’t sure what exactly had caused the change. Even if Ford had pushed the small argument of Stan’s away, it hardly meant Stan ever believed his words were final in any matter.

But none of that was what truly made Ford turn around in his seat, following Stan’s pensive gaze to the small gallery door, tracing over the glass inset that stared out across the sea and the few old ropes tied to the railing that blocked a portion of the view, trying to discern what exactly had distracted his brother quite so abruptly to no avail. “Stan? Earth to Stan?” His words came out humorous, though there was an edge of nerves that fizzled behind the less genuine amusement. It wasn’t unlike his brother to space out from time to time, just as he zoned into his thoughts, but it didn’t usually happen in the middle of a fairly heated debate.

He just hoped it was that, his brother staring off into the middle distance, absorbed and lost in his own thoughts. It gave him something to tease him about, clear the air around them and hopefully make this trip far more enjoyable for the both of them.

“Hmm? What was that?”

Ford felt himself relax minutely as Stan blinked, his eyes returning to focus as he seemed to realise where he was and what he was doing. He stood up straighter, more self conscious as he came back to the world of the living. “Nothing, just wondered where you’d gone off to.”

“Me? Nowhere, I’m still right here- what were we talking about?”

Ford’s relaxing muscles froze back into tenseness as Stan struggled to get his bearings again. It wasn’t that strange, not really, not the forgetfulness or the dazed expression, but Ford couldn’t help but notice something more disturbing about this particular senior moment.

The abnormality in his body language. The absence of his sheepish, awkward expression as he realised what he’d done, turning to Ford instantly.

How instead his eyes stayed glued to the gallery door, even as his head turned towards him to talk with him, still distracted, still lost to something else even if he could now at least hear his brother’s voice.

“Nothing important.”

Stan blinked a few times at Ford’s words, shaking his head as he pulled his gaze away from where it had been rooted, a somewhat difficult feat from where Ford sat and watched with avid attention. “No- that doesn’t sound right. I feel like I was winning an argument.”

“Hah, as if.” Ford snorted, warmth colouring his words, though it didn’t seem to reach his core, a cold seeping through as he saw his brother still trying to shake whatever had distracted him. “Stan?”

“Yeah?”

He couldn’t just leave it at that. “What were you looking at?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.”

Ford levelled him with an unimpressed expression, Stan refusing to meet his gaze head on. “Now, why don’t I believe you.”

“Because I lie a lot and now you can’t tell the difference?” Stan grinned cheekily, still staring over his left shoulder instead of at him. “See, that was my plan all along. I’m a brilliant liar, for more than one reason now.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Stan’s smile gleamed, white teeth bright and victorious. “Slander, I ran an outstanding business based purely on lies. I win this round.” He tried to shrug off the entire conversation, Ford could practically hear his brain whirring as he tried to jump abruptly into another topic. “Right, I’m starving. Where did you put that fish, Sixer-”

“ _Stan_. What. Did. You. See?”

“I already told you! Nothing! I wasn’t looking at anything!”

“Stan-”

He felt like a teacher, or a parent scolding a petulant child.

Maybe Stan felt that too, heard something in the tone, as soon enough his shoulders hunched and his hackles raised, eyes gleaming dangerously in response.

“What? Don’t ’ _Stan_ ’ me! I was just thinking! That’s all! Thinking about this stupid situation you’ve got us into.” Stan huffed, a deep set scowl marring his features as he scooped up one of the sleeping bags, his book and an old oil lamp hooked on to one of the wood beams. “So to make the best of a bad situation, I’m going upstairs.”

“Upstairs- what? Why is that any better than down here?” Ford stood up, dragging his gaze away from the spot Stan had been staring at. “Did you see something, Stan? Is that why you don’t want to stay down here?”

“What?” Stan’s voice couldn’t be filled with any more irritated disbelief if he tried. “ _No_. It’s just- familiar up there, that’s all. And not someone else’s living quarters.” He looked over at the old beds, the small kitchen, his scowl shifting into something colder, more uneasy than it had been before he shook it back beneath the hard unimpressed glower. “Look, I don’t want to be here. At all! I think I’ve made that clear enough. The least you can do is let me choose where I sleep without all these questions! I don’t need a reason for that, do I?”

“No, I- of course not. There’s no need to get so defensive about it though.”

“Defensive?!” Stan spluttered for a moment, indignation sparking behind his eyes before he took a long, steadying breath. “Right. Sorry. But just you jumping to conclusions is-” He shook himself. “Whatever, just- you’re right, upstairs is no better than down here, but I’d rather be up there, alright? You don’t have to stay down here, either.”

Ford shrugged, still slightly hurt by the odd outburst, and knowing that something in Stan’s words wasn’t the complete truth. “No, I think I’ll stay down here. I missed a lot of the paranormal activity whilst I was in the lantern room, I wouldn’t want to miss anything throughout the night.”

Stan blinked at Ford’s retreating back, unable to hold in the loud scoff that made his brother pause. “You just answered your own question, Sixer.”

Ford had no idea what he was talking about.

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

He had found during their journey, that it was getting harder and harder to pull all-nighters, what with the mix of an ever present brother concerned for his well-being and a ship full of labour intensive work to keep him to a fairly regular sleep schedule on a day to day basis. He didn’t oversleep by any means, and if he could, he was sure Stan would actually recommend he slept  _more_. He fortunately couldn’t however as he had absolutely no room to talk, his own sleeping habits still restless and disjointed for the most part. Regardless, his body was evidently beginning to get used to the fact that sleep was a part of his routine and whether or not his mind wanted to stick to that routine, crying out for lost and wasted time he could have spent doing something productive, his body unfortunately had decided it did.

That didn’t mean he didn’t still try to push through the inevitable, when the moment gripped him.

Who knew what would happen during the night here, what fascinating phenomenon he’d be able to record and study if he just waited for it to reveal itself to him.

All he had to do was stay awake to do so.

But the hours trickled by. The sun set peacefully behind the horizon, the soft pink hues overtaken by the orange warmth of another lamp he’d pulled down to keep writing by. It was dim though, eyes straining if he looked anywhere other than the small circle of light he’d afforded himself. It was an itch behind his eyes, the gnawing of sleep blurring on the edges of his vision in the darkness, and the sea kept up a steady thrumming lulluby of white noise, crashing on the rocks below, dragging pebbles back and forth, back and forth…

If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine he was being rocked by the waves, just like every night since they had started this journey. Curled up, warm and safe in his now familiar bunk, his brother still moving around on the deck above him.

He smiled softly, dazed and sleepy amusement permeating through as he rested his head on his crossed arms, curling over the desk before him, content to just listen to the pitter patter of feet above, the wood creaking above his head as he heard his brother muttering away to himself. He could only imagine what his brother was up to. Knowing him it was probably no good and he’d bear the brunt of it once he awoke.

He’d let him have his moment though, instead of ruining the surprise now. Usually the mischief was well intended after all. Sure he might find a few books hidden away or a distraction intentionally set up to pull him away from whatever he had thrown himself into this time without thought, but it was also just as frequently accompanied by a bright beaming smile, and genuine barks of laughter that he couldn’t help but join in with.

The footsteps grew fainter, as distance as the crashing waves as he began to drift, sleep warm and welcome as he snuggled into the thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

There really was nothing better, than their small little boat, bobbing along the waters-

_THUD. THUD. THUD._

Ford awoke with a start. He propelling himself backwards from his small cosy nook and nearly unseated himself in the process, chair wobbling precariously as his arms windmilled violently to try and settle the motions, all the while still blearily trying to get his bearings.

It took far too long to realise he wasn’t in his bunk, even longer to realise the wooden room around him was not their familiar cabin and that Stan’s footsteps above had  _not_ been wandering along the darkening deck of their safe haven on the sea.

Which also meant that that wasn’t Stan falling over or something equally ridiculous as he finally found his way into the cabin area for the night.

“S-Stan? That you?” Ford tried to choke out a laugh, wondering if Stan had tripped as he came down the small ladder, or hit some furniture he hadn’t been expecting to be there. “You alright-”

_THUD. THUD THUDTHUDTHUD-_

The words died on his tongue, turning to ash as his mouth went dry. It was more frenzied than a simple trip, not to mention it was still reverberating around the room, and he found his eyes slamming shut in pain on impulse at the assault. He curled inwards in his chair, hands clamping down on his ears on instinct. It was more like hammering, a deafening sound that ached and vibrated to his very core, rattling his bones as he gritted his teeth and tried to think through the raucous din.

It was so difficult though, so hard to even move through the thick sound as it invaded his senses, all encompassing, a pounding wooden ring rattling through his head and ricocheting off of every membrane. There was a desperation behind every swing, quick and fleeting and Ford could feel a panic that was not completely of his own making creeping in, hysteria, paranoia, and regret pouring through the fissures that every resounding clap made through his frame.

And through it all, if it wasn’t quite so loud and therefore impossible to really listen through it, he was almost certain he could hear a voice in amongst it all.

_“No. No, no, no, no- NO.”_

He tried to focus in on the strange undertone to the hammering, tried to figure out if he was really hearing anything at all or if his mind was playing tricks on him. But it was so hard to hear through, so hard to push down the bubbling choking nausea that it had all gone wrong, that he had done something so wrong- so many things wrong and this was the consequence.

That he was  _doing_  something so  _so_  wrong.

There was a rattle of metal, a creaking, groaning sound as if something was being wrenched out of place, chunks of the building being torn asunder.

With it came an abrupt waft of pure decay, carrion unearthed by the demolition. Death and rot and dirt, the putrefaction process sped up exponentially as the material was exposed to the world after decades tightly locked away.

Ford squeezed his eyes shut even tighter as the stench grew stronger, overpowering, that smell so unmistakable, so repulsive, and now so, so close to him. It was there, he could feel it, if he just kicked his foot out he was sure it would connect- but what it would connect with, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to know anymore.

And he most definitely did not want to see it.

There was another crash from further away, dividing his attention. The smell vanished entirely, a shuddering breath escaping him as he gulped in much needed fresh air, the salt brine burning his lungs in a way he could only find purifying in that instance. There was a second solid thunk of wood hitting wood and tinkling shards of metal as if the nailed boards surrounding him were being forcibly ripped out, crying out in splintering pain, desperate to stay where they were regardless of the force being exerted on them. The wind and sea howled behind the noise, thunder rattling through the bones of the old lighthouse, the entire building groaning out in torment as Ford felt it shift and sway beneath his feet.

_Oh god- Stan was right, wasn’t he? This place is going to fall apart around our ears. I’m sorry, what have I done_ -

_I’m sorry, I’m sorry. This is the only way. Please don’t hate me. Not for this. I wish I didn’t have to do this but-_

_Wait… Do what?_

Ford clattered out of his seat, once again catapulting himself backwards as it became starkly clear that there was a voice that was not his own, slipping seamlessly through his skull. He snapped his eyes open, entire body poised to fight as his head moved in quick sharp bursts. The thought of someone else invading his thoughts, playing with his emotions filled him with a cold, stark dread as he panted where he stood, his mind racing to push the influence away, as far away as possible-

It took that moment of heavy breathing, panting, his heart beating hard against his ribs, to realise that the sound he was hearing was just an echo, his blood pumping a painful, hammering beat in his eardrums even if the source no longer existed.

There was nothing out of place, no gaping holes in the side of the lighthouse, no torrential rain speckling him with spray or howling wind biting at him through exposed splintering tears.

The lighthouse’s structural integrity was still intact.  So what on earth had he been hearing?

He had finally got his breathing back on track when there was another much softer clunk from nearby, though it sounded deafening to his abused ears, every nerve sparking with electric tension as his neck snapped to follow the noise.

And found himself staring at the one still intact cupboard in the small kitchen, it’s door wide open and bouncing ever so slightly against the wall behind it.

His entire world thrummed, his skin tingling with adrenaline as he waited for anything more, as his mind tried desperately to connect the dots and figure out what possible anomaly could have caused that abrupt shift in reality.

And more importantly, why it would have wanted to.

_What is it trying to tell me? Show me?_

_Or does it have no control over that in the first place? Is this just residual energy?_

The panic was fading fast, his body slowly straightening from it’s tense hunched position as he continued to stare at the cabinet, still hitting the wall every few seconds, the sound growing quieter and quieter with every loss of momentum.

And with it, the more logical part of his mind tried to fill in the blanks.

_I was asleep, did I actually wake up properly or did the noise of the cabinet just invade-_

_No, that can’t have been it. It was so loud, it can’t have been just that…_

_But if it had been real, if that really just happened, then Stan would be down here already, he would have heard you call out-_

_Wait, where is Stan? Is he still upstairs- what if-_

And just as quickly as it had faded, the fear pulsed back to life, logic choked by it’s twisting vines of thought. He kicked the chair away from him in his haste, forcing himself to push through everything in his path towards his brother.

_What if all that noise was coming from up there? What if this room is fine but the room above bore the brunt of the storm, buckling under it’s own weight-_

_What if Stan had been fighting up there, all alone-_  each slamming hammer reverberated through his skull, feeling like another weight in Ford’s stomach as he fought down the bile that threatened to burn up his throat, desperately trying hard not to think of every impact against his brother, or a body hitting wood, over and over and-

He ran up to the ladder, climbing as fast as he could, hating how every impact, every footfall jarred through his nerves, fuelling the images flashing behind his eyes.

_No, he would have- he would have shouted for help- he can’t be-_

_He just **can’t**  be._

He couldn’t even finish the sentence, the words too disturbing to even comprehend in that moment.

He clambered up into the room, bright light engulfing him and making him squint past blurring flickers that refused to fade as he blinked rapidly.

It was a struggle to hear, struggle to see and he was so desperate to know what had happened, concern so thick and cloying that he wouldn’t have cared in that moment if he never knew what the anomaly was, only that his brother was going to be OK and that he had a chance to get him out of here and-

The lights were beginning to blink out of existence, his eyes adjusting to the harsh glow and he found himself lost in a flickering flame, the room sharply coming into focus around him.

The lantern was lit.

“I- what…” He tore his eyes away at a soft disgruntled noise, his gaze catching on his brother’s sleeping form. The air in his lungs expelled, pure relief rushing through and the fear gushing out, leaving him boneless and weary, his strings abruptly cut, his legs suddenly turned to jelly as he saw his twin, completely at peace.

No blood, no splintering chunks of wood or bone, no shattered glass- none of the nightmarish thoughts he had envisioned.

Just a peaceful room, not a speck of dust in sight or an instrument out of place, and an orange beacon glowing hot in the centre of the dome, thawing the ice that had been freezing solid through his veins.

As the relief faded into something more manageable, the questions returned, the earlier half promises of not caring discarded without a second thought as all of his theories became further and further from the truth.

An enigma that he couldn’t quite solve, one that now included his brother’s actions, along with his own state of mind.

Had he really dreamt all of it up?

“Did Stan… tidy?” Ford frowned, rubbing a hand along the nearest shelf and coming back completely devoid of dust. Had that been what all the pacing had been earlier? Had he felt so restless and bored that the act of cleaning was better than coming down to talk to him?

Had he really been that angry at him for getting them stuck up here?

…Considering his own spiralling thoughts on what could have happened only moments ago, all those fluttering painful possibilities he no longer wanted to even entertain, he wasn’t sure he could blame him.

Or was it something else? Just like that gripping paranoia, that bubbling guilt and regret that wasn’t his own that had risen up like tar, pumping it’s poison through his veins- had something done similar to Stan? Pushed him to a frenzy, pushed him back into old habits that Ford had pulled him out of?

_He lit the light- why did he? What purpose does it serve? What wanted it lit **this time** -_

Or had he felt the need to keep busy, to keep moving to try and stave off the lingering thoughts, to try and ignore the presence that was trying to twist and pull, and draw him in?

_…That’s ridiculous. This is all ridiculous._

There was no way Stan would be sleeping so peacefully if that was the case. Not to mention there weren’t a lot of choices to use when it came to tricking the old conman. It would have either been a threat to him or the kids and he was pretty sure he would have heard either of those confrontations. His brother wasn’t one to back down when there was a chance of danger around the corner, nor was he one to back down from a threat.

He’d be more concerned for the presence than Stan if it had been foolish enough to even imply hurting one of their family.

_What I doing? Jumping at shadows? At nightmares?_

The dark nervous energy was fading once more, the light burning it away at the subtle serenity of the room. It was all beginning to feel embarrassing, his brother tranquil and asleep, his face calm and open. The scene was enough to bring a small smile to his face, even as he laughed mockingly at his own anxious energy. He wanted an anomaly so badly, so desperately wanted there to be something of interest here and he’d got his wish for a few moments in the worst possible way, his mind giving him exactly what he’d wanted.

A wish that had gone so utterly wrong, like most wishes do.

But it had all been a dream, just his mind playing tricks on him. He must have opened that cabinet at some point, a crashing wave knocking it further in the night until it had hit the wall with a loud enough crash to enter his dreams and twist them into horrific parodies of reality.

That had to be it.

If the banging and crashing had actually happened then Stan wouldn’t still be resting up here so peacefully, curled up at a desk much as Ford had been before all this happened, his cheek pressed against whatever book he had managed to grab from the boat before the tide came in.

Ford couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him, fond warmth eclipsing any lingering doubts he had. At least he’d have a comical story to tell in the morning, Stan would give him that look that told him it was his own fault, shaking his head in exasperation and then they’d be on their way again. “Wow, you must have been really bored to fall asleep reading. No wonder you found time to tidy this place.” The words were quiet though he bit his lip quickly, shushing in apology when Stan’s brow creased, his face pushing deeper into his arms as if trying to escape the noise. He found himself moving forward, continuing his soft noises as Stan relaxed again before he noted that Stan really hadn’t meant to fall asleep either, the sleeping bag and blankets still in a haphazard pile near the ladder. He tutted endearingly, grabbing the blanket to wrap around his brother, rolling his eyes at the appreciative hum he received in kind, his brother burrowing happily into the newfound warmth. “Such a kid. You’re never allowed to tell me off for falling asleep at my desk again.”

He patted Stan’s shoulder one more time, taking reassurance in the warmth before steeling himself and walking back down the stairs.

He would not be swayed by a frankly absurd nightmare.

He sat himself back down at the desk, checking the lantern to make sure it was as bright as possible in the hopes of keeping himself from falling asleep again and went back to his journal with a new vigour.

At least writing down the preposterous dream would keep him awake for when the real anomaly finally revealed itself.

 

* * *

 

The cabinet would wake him up again during the night.

He growled pitifully, not even realising he’d been nodding off, his body lurching forward as he straightened himself up, his hand dislodging from it’s position against his journal and drawing a deep black line up across the page he’d been working on. “Oh, for f-” He glared up and around accusingly at the offending piece of furniture, innocently bumping against the wall, knocking away as if to politely get his attention.

It didn’t matter how many times he got up to close it, it kept swinging open of it’s own accord. He almost wished he could go back to the boat and grab his level, prove that it was as irritatingly bog standard phenomenon so his mind didn’t fixate on it every time it opened.

He also wished he could go grab some glue and stop the pointless movements indefinitely.

“Why couldn’t someone have finished the job, and taken you apart as well.” Ford’s glare intensified, though he sniffed loudly, trying to prove that it wasn’t worth his time as he focused instead on assessing exactly how much damage he had done to his own notes.

There was another loud thud a while later, as he paused to think up the perfect word, mind deserting him in buzzing blankness as he stared at the page, willing himself to remember what he had been meaning to write. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, the snap enough of a noise to drag him back into the room, pen still poised above his page as he sarcastically remarked. “I wasn’t falling asleep that time, so that was a bit pointless-”

The snark stuck to the back of his tongue.

The cabinet was closed, no longer snapping against the wooden wall like it had been for hours.

For one, he didn’t remember closing it, and two, he most definitely hadn’t felt the storm shake the room that time.

Not to mention if it had been the cabinet off balance, the normal logical argument like he had envisioned, then it wouldn’t have been able to close itself as well without a hint of stimulus-

The noise happened again, a dull heavy thunk, a solid vibration thrumming through the walls.

And for once Ford had been staring at the offending cabinet in question.

The one that hadn’t moved at all.

Ford felt himself lock up, muscles tense as all his arguments and theories tore apart under the evidence now before him. He couldn’t pull his eyes away though as the sound came again, his breathing heavy in his ears as his mind started to pull the noise apart further.

It wasn’t wood on wood this time, something softer but heavier, no splintering crunches or metallic chinks. Just a heaviness, a deep low groan of the wood’s integrity being tested by a solid weight pushing up against it.

There was something else too, something thinner, the creak of rope, pulled taunt beyond measure, swinging back and forth, back and forth…

And it was coming from directly in front of him.

He tried to breath through the constriction in his chest, the sudden lump that had formed in his throat. He was still staring to the side, up and into the kitchen, his mind betrayed by his own senses for not realising sooner where the sounds were actually coming from.

There were eyes in the top of his skull. Burning a hole as he sat there, eyes wide with the influx of sensations and knowledge, trying to distinguish between thought and truth, mind running away from him, falling off the tracks to flit between fight or flight as he continued to sit there frozen. A stark contrast to the sparks flying through his head.

The rope swung again, the sound of it tightening and twisting, adding another layer on his frazzling nerves, one just enough for him to tear his eyes away from their point, and drag his attention in front of him.

There was nothing to see.

Or so he thought at first, his chest heaving with the small breaths his constricted airways would allow.

The path before him was completely clear, uneven wooden floorboards, and age old nails all that was in his eye line, up to the gallery ahead of him.

He squinted out there once he was sure there was nothing inside the room with him, the gallery lit up white and silver in the moonlight, empty and unassuming.

And then in a sudden gust of air, all the breath leaving his lungs in a plume of ice, he realised it wasn’t.

The ropes he had noticed early, the ones that obscured some of the view outside, trailing and winding in the wind, tying themselves in knots, were now taunt, stretched as far as they would go, wrapped tight around something large, something heavy that dragged along the floor of the gallery, hit the edge of the railing and fell back towards the door, with every swing of the rope.

His mind tried, desperate attempts at reason, to deny what it was seeing. Maybe the ropes had gotten caught below the gallery, maybe tangled in debris from the sea, that made them move the way they did. Maybe the noises were just from the weight, the wood creaking above where the ropes were tied off and he was just making unreasonable leaps to conclusions, mind slow and twitchy from his environment, and lack of sleep, and nightmares-

Only it wasn’t.

Because he could see the ends of the rope tangling around seemingly nothing.

Whatever it was, it was there. Right there, just outside the doorway from the gallery.

He couldn’t see it, but as much as he tried to deny it, he could feel it, a bubble of influence, a looming entity that fizzled on the edges of his consciousness, seeping in through the cracks, completely assured in the knowledge that even if he couldn’t see it, he knew it was there.

it was there and it was watching him.

Just standing there  _watching_  him.

_Just like it had been all night._

Ford hissed at the thought, dragging his attention and gaze away from the glass. His heart skipped a solid beat as it sunk nauseatingly into the pit of his stomach.

It had been there all this time. The anomaly that he was looking for. He had been looking for signs, looking for answers-

And all the time it had been watching him back, observing him, listening to him. Content just to wait patiently until he realised it was there, right there in the darkness, doing nothing but stare.

The knowledge was somehow worse, and now he knew, he couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t ignore the tangible electricity running through the air, that unmistakable feeling of being watched, the mass of energy standing in what his physical senses were telling him was an unoccupied space.

Unnerving, disconcerting, his mind at odds with his body.

And still it did nothing, nothing but creak and groan, shift its position with the wind, the proof of its existence in the heavy dull thuds that set his teeth on edge, that echoed every time one of the hanging taunt ropes hit the railing, a noise they should never have been able to muster on their own.

And yet somehow, the nothingness, now the creature had been caught in its little game, made it all the more terrifying, Ford knowing full well it was letting his mind do the heavy lifting, going into overdrive.

All his logic was going quickly out of the window, all his thoughts-  _you wanted this. Examine it like any other anomaly, push down all the emotion, you’ve done it before- remember, you wanted this-_ vanishing behind that fearful, remorseful veneer, disappearing behind the stark knowledge that this creature, whatever it was, was testing him, judging him.

And by the feel of the tension in the room, it was finding him severely wanting.

The wind howled again, loud and angry, in argument with the roaring sea below. Old bitter enemies in that moment, both of whom seemed more than happy to tear the lighthouse down in the midst of their fight, the room shaking once more as Ford clutched tight to a nearby beam, other hand gripped like a lifeline to his journal. The cabinet clattered open once more, slamming against the wall and ricocheting back, the dreaded hammering replaying in Ford’s head for barely a moment before the shaking stopped, the room rocking back into position, losing it’s momentum.

Ford couldn’t help but decide that if that was the presence’s response to scrutinising him, then he most definitely did not want to know what the question had been.

It was still there though, still just outside the door, still patiently watching him, as if nothing had even happened.

Maybe it hadn’t. Stan had still not descended to see what all the noise was about.

_Maybe it wants me to let it in._

He gulped, licking his lips nervously at the unwanted thought. He shifted in his seat, glad that his perch at the well worn desk gave him a full view of the gallery and the kitchen without much movement just in case whatever it was tried another approach to getting whatever it was it wanted. He was also glad of the comfort the place afforded, the ladder up to Stan behind him, keeping him safe in the knowledge that Stan would have his back if necessary.

That thought gave him a short moment of reprieve from the onslaught, the thought of his brother serenely sleeping upstairs giving some small semblance of hope.

If he could sleep, peaceful and unharmed, perhaps there was hope that as long as he kept his wits about him they’d both leave here no worse for wear in the morning.

He just had to stay awake, stay rational, stay calm, focus in and pinpoint the thoughts and feelings that were not his own. Now he knew it was there, knew that it wasn’t in his head, he just had to stay aware, stay awake, stay active.

It was obvious that sleep would not be an option. Not now, not tonight. Even if his brother had found a way to sleep through it, he didn’t want to risk it, didn’t want to think about what this thing could do if they were both asleep and unprepared for it.

Not that whatever it was seemed willing to let him try anyway.

But it didn’t stop his body from trying, once everything fell quiet once more, once he could almost kid himself that it had just been a bad dream, barely even still there on the edge of his peripherals, letting its presence fade ever so slightly… still there but less corporeal…

And just as he’d suspected, the presence was unimpressed with his futile attempts at trying to push past the inevitable draw of sleep.

Ford clutched the blanket tighter around his shoulders as the ice cold creaking of ropes woke him yet another time, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as it was now accompanied by a faint tapping on the glass ahead of him, coaxing him to look, begging him for just a moment of his time…

_Tap… Tap…_

He’d felt the feeling before, the draw to the sea, the calling of the water as he found himself pushing off the shore to see what lay deep in the cove below the Cipher Light.

He wouldn’t be fooled again.

_Tap._

He pushed past the feeling, cursing his inability to stay awake as he hunched over his book, scribbling down note after note, anything to keep sleep at bay, anything to keep him occupied enough not to let that morbid curiosity get the better of him and drag his gaze up.

_Tap… Tap… Tap…_

And just for a moment, he wondered whether anyone else had sat here, in this exact spot, doing the exact same.

 

* * *

 

“Wow, you look like shit, Sixer.”

Ford gave him the most withering glare he could muster, which judging by Stan’s amused quirking mouth, wasn’t much. “Gee, thanks. What a nice thing to say to someone first thing in the morning.”

Stan snorted, biting on his tongue for a moment before he couldn’t seem to resist a retort. “Yeah well, seeing you this grumpy this early in the morning isn’t the nicest thing to  _see_  either.”

Ford bristled, opening his mouth to object, petulant and indignant, but his thoughts were sluggish, any witty banter only half thought up before it was replaced by another chunk of a response. He huffed at himself. It was hardly fair of Stan, to throw wisecracks at him when he’d only just come back to the world of the living, still feeling mildly of death. He winced, squinting in pain as Stan clapped his hands, the sound far too loud this early in the morning. He rubbed them together with an oddly bright gleam to his eyes as he looked around. “Now, what have we got around here for breakfast. I’m starving, and you look about ready to keel over, so I think we need some grub.”

The thought of food turned his stomach, that twisting bubbling sensation that he wasn’t quite sure meant that he’d throw up at the sight of food, or was so hungry he actually felt nauseous.

One night of disturbed sleep should not make him feel this bad.

He should never have tried to sleep, it somehow felt worse than if he’d just forced himself to push through all night.

“Honestly, Sixer, you look like a small gust of wind will bowl you right over.”

Ford’s thoughts on food vanished, his glower deepening as Stan smiled cockily at him from near the trapdoor, already piling up the items they’d brought with them ready to leave. There was something completely and utterly unfair about this entire predicament.

Here he was, exhausted, dead on his feet and feeling like he had made no progress at all in figuring out what had happened here.

Yet there his brother stood, wide awake and far too chipper for this early in the morning. Especially for Stan. It was almost unnerving.

The man just liked to grumble and complain, he’d shown that yesterday when he was hellbent on grouching over staying here and yet now he looked like the world was his oyster.

“Yeah? And how come you seem so happy this morning? You’re acting like a small child on Christmas.”

_Wow, great insult there, genius._

Stan shrugged, face innocent. “No reason.”

_Liar. You are a terrible liar._

“I’m just thinking of the great breakfast I’m going to have…”

_I don’t believe it for a second._

“I’m sure I can cook up something great back on the Stan'O'War. Glad the tides low enough for us to get back now.”

_…Really? That’s it?_

“You’re really that happy to get away from this place, aren’t you?” Ford shook his head, rolling up his sleeping bag and trying not to equally roll his eyes as Stan’s smile turned beaming, though he quickly coughed to cover it up, head bent down to throw stuff in a bag and not look at him.

“Well, I mean. Nothing up here, was there? Spent a night up here for nothing.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Yep.” Stan popped the 'p’ with a relish, still keeping his eyes downcast. “Sorry, we came all this way for nothing, but hey, at least we got to stay somewhere that reminds us of home, right?” He tapped the wood almost fondly, eyes flickering over to the gallery again for just a second, a blink that Ford would have missed if he wasn’t watching every movement as carefully as his sleep deprived brain would allow. Ever a scientist, an observer at the very least.

And if he said 'nothing’ one more time, he might just snap.

Instead he rubbed underneath his glasses, cursing quietly at how quick to temper he was, how his emotions shifted back and forth, how his mind couldn’t seem to stay on one track of thought- shifting and jumping without end, stuttering on randomly before one thought had been completed or fizzling out into a mindless hum if he gave in and let it. And he knew, he really did know, deep down, that it was due to the lack of sleep. It was all bubbling to the surface, body slightly disconnected and his head filled with cotton wool.

He just wanted some answers, that’s all he had wanted.

Stan choosing that moment to start whistling happily did not help matters.

Ford whined pitifully, the sound muffled by his hands. “How are you so happy?”

“…You already asked me that, bro.”

“Yes, I know, but-” He continued to mumble into his hands for a moment before dropping them, catching his brother in a piercing gaze. “How? How are you so awake?”

“Because unlike someone I tried to sleep?” Stan raised an eyebrow at him, the look stern and parental.

“I did! I did try to sleep.” Ford snapped back, crossing his arms at Stan’s incredulous look. “But I couldn’t- not through the racket this place was causing. How on earth could you sleep through that?”

There was a beat of silence as they stared at each other, both as confused as the other. And then in one simultaneous move, they both straightened, eyebrows raised.

If anyone else had seen it, they might have laughed at their twin reaction, as much as they would have denied it.

“Wait- you didn’t hear anything, did you?”

“Sleep through what, exactly? This place didn’t creak that much, it wasn’t even windy last night.”

They both paused again, words jumbling together. Ford waited, mind buzzing with questions as realisation flashed across Stan’s face before being quickly smothered, a mischievous, smug smirk pulling at his lips. “What?”

“You didn’t spook yourself at this old place, did you?”

“ _No_! Not at all! Something kept waking me up.”

“Uh-huh, of course. So… did you actually see anything?”

Ford’s face grew downcast, refusing to admit defeat. “Well, no, not exactly.”

“Not exactly?”

“I heard something! It kept slamming against the-” He gestured wildly, watching with victorious satisfaction as Stan’s eyes instantly zoned into the gallery door with little prompting. “Yes! There, you know something was there, you saw it yesterday.” He could feel his tone getting accusatory as his brother stood there, quiet and thoughtful. “Didn’t you? You saw whatever it was, that’s why you chose to go upstairs for the rest of the evening.”

Stan’s gaze turned back to him, slow and pensive. It sent something akin to dread down Ford’s spine as he waited for an answer, a verdict, waking up ever so slightly under the hawk like scrutiny.

“Maybe.”

And with that, the moment passed. Stan shrugged nonchalantly, shifting the full backpack on to his shoulder and getting ready to make the first trip back to the boat without another word.

Ford was almost sure he saw his smug grin stretch wider.

“Maybe? What do you mean _'maybe’?”_

“I mean maybe. Now are you coming down for breakfast or what?” Stan’s voice was almost sing song as he vanished from view.

“Breakfast? How can you think about breakfast right now?” His tone was scandalised, shock and horror permeating every word even if he realised that he wasn’t entirely making sense.

“Uhm- because it’s the morning and I’m hungry? It’s quite simple, really. No big mystery there.”

“That’s- you know what I- not the point!” Ford scurried to the hole, staring down at his brother. “What do you mean 'maybe’? It’s a yes no question, pure and simple.”

“Well then, that’s for me to know and you to wonder, isn’t it?”

“…That really just means yes but you don’t want to say it.”

Stan looked up at him again, teeth gleaming as he continued his descent. “Maybe.”

This was getting them nowhere, and Ford belatedly noted that whatever happened, Stan was winning.

He wasn’t about to  _not_  follow him just so he could keep on asking questions, and soon enough they’d be back on the boat just like his brother wanted.

“That still doesn’t explain why it didn’t disturb you at all through the night.” Ford sat with his feet dangling over the edge of the hole, kicking uselessly in a fit of frustration.

“Oh that? That’s because I did him a favour.”

“You did-  _him_? Who’s ’ _him_ ’?” Ford stressed the words as he watched his brother climb down the rickety ladder, too busy trying to keep his footing than respond now. “And what favour? What did you do?”

Stan paused, getting a solid footing before looking up at him, tutting ever so slightly as he gave him a once over. “Well, Sixer, when you come into someone’s home uninvited, you should probably at least try and be a polite guest for them. Otherwise, they might not be hospitable in return.”

Ford had no idea why he was now getting a lecture this early in the morning, let alone in a lighthouse that hadn’t seen a keeper in what must have been decades.

“All I did was a few chores, whatever was up there must have liked that.”

Ford almost didn’t wait for Stan to be at the bottom before he was following suit, shouting down to him all the while.

“Stan, you can’t just leave it like that. What-”

“You really should drop it, Sixer. Get the hint. I’m not telling you anything.”

“But  _why_?” Ford grimaced, knowing full well he sounded like a child; ratty and close to a full on tantrum. He wasn’t even irritated when Stan seemed to ignore him, ashamed suddenly by the nasally whine his voice had taken. He almost hoped Stan hadn’t actually heard him.

He focused instead on moving, one step after another, one hand after the other, a gust of wind wobbled the rope ladder beneath him and he felt more than saw the heavy hands at the bottom keep it steady for him. It wouldn’t do to prove Stan right about a gust of wind knocking him for six.

Besides, he still didn’t feel all that steady on his feet in general and he wasn’t about to let Stan change the subject onto his health and well being just yet.

Like a dog with a bone though, his thirst for knowledge took over as soon as his feet hit solid ground again. “Right, now then. Why have you decided that-”

“Sixer, do you trust me?”

Stan’s words cut through his like a knife through butter.

“Of course.” The words came out instantly, Ford shocked and hurt that Stan could even ask. “What kind of question is that?” His brother shrugged, humming in response and Ford couldn’t help but get defensive. “Of course I trust you.”

“Good. Then trust me - you don’t want to know.”

There was silence for all of two seconds, and then a deep exasperated groan.

“…You know what? I also hate you.”

“That’s fair.”

Ford wavered for all of two seconds, worrying his lip before he couldn’t help but try and be persuasive. “Of course I  _trust_  you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know, or that you can decide how much I need to know for that matter-”

“ _Sixer_.”

Ford couldn’t help but cringe at the nickname, somehow forced into an agitated sigh of disbelief and resignation. “If you would just tell me what you saw yesterday at the very least, or what you meant a moment ago…” He knew he was acting desperate but Stan knew! Stan knew what was happening here and wouldn’t let him in on it. How was that fair?

_Maybe as fair as making him stay up there with you was._

Ford ignored the voice, inwardly hurling back profanities at it. “Just- something? Anything.”

“Look.” Ford held his breath as Stan turned back to him, mouth twisted thoughtfully. “It’s- sometimes a ghost is just a ghost. And a lighthouse is just a lighthouse. No big deal, nothing special. We’ve got bigger fish to fry out there.”

Ford opened his mouth, confusion and frustration evident enough for Stan to shake his head in disappointment before he could even get the words off his tongue. “But-”

“Leave it, Sixer.”

Ford bit back his words before they fell out without warning, his infuriated perplexity at a mystery unsolved- or solved but not explained to him a travesty he couldn’t have in that moment. Stan knew something, but for some reason he thought it best for him not to know. He’d be the judge of that. “No! Even you said how strange the place was. What about the lantern room? How tidy it was versus the other room? How can you say it’s  _just_ a lighthouse?”

Stan blinked at him, a casual shrug as he took in what his brother was saying, even if it didn’t seem to phase him at all. “Yeah, well, he was a keeper. Even with all that resentment, he was a good keeper by the looks of it. Still kept the old girl going. Kept doing his duty.”

“I- What…”

There was something in his words then that shifted Ford’s perspective on the scene. He wasn’t exactly there anymore, though, as his mind focused on only a portion of his speech.

_Kept doing his duty._

A man, pacing, working away night after night after night. Keeping the lantern lit no matter what the world threw at him, going through the motions. A ghost, a shell of his former self, continuing on and on into the darkness even when everyone else had gone. Flickering in the moonlight, vanishing in and out of the bright light he was eternally keeping lit. Forever destined to stay trapped in the lantern room of the lighthouse, forever lost to the wisps and winds, desperately waiting for any kind of sign that his beacon was being seen…

But then he blinked, back into the present, and there he was, stood in front of him. His brother. Alive, and well, and  _there_. Not a ghost, not a lost spirit stuck in a loop, not the shell of the man he once was bleeding into the darkness until he faded altogether.

Not an old man still straining night after night in a lighthouse that refused to be lit.

Whole and bright, and ready for an adventure, both of them back together again.

_But what if…_

The alternatives were all too easy to imagine, could so easily have happened if it wasn’t for Stan’s determination, if it wasn’t for all the dots connecting, every single domino effect that had led to that light coming on that night.

The wooden frame creaked behind him, an ominous echo from the night before, sending a shiver down his spine.

His appetite for this particular mystery had abruptly vanished, the taste left behind ashy and acidic.

He didn’t want to know another version of events, another keeper who had never made it out of his lighthouse.

Stan watched him quietly with a sceptical, nervous eye and if Ford could have spoken past the lump that had formed in his throat, he might have laughed hysterically.

Stan didn’t think he’d got through to him.

His brother didn’t realise just how his words had affected him, how deeply they had cut into him, and left him winded at the mere notion, the smallest inkling of-

He shook his head, another shiver shuddering through him.

A world weary sigh, snapped his head back to Stan. A resigned smile on his face as he came forward.

“Still not convinced? Well, if you’re really that determined, here.”

There was a solid thump to his chest as Stan hit him, Ford’s arms scrambling up to grab the book that had abruptly been given to him. He glanced down, eyebrow raising at the ghost stories book that Stan had found for him in a port what felt like aeons ago and had to grab just for the fun of it.

His mouth twisted as he saw the small bookmark inside it, the page there for the taking, ready and waiting for him to learn all the secrets that had been hiding from him throughout the night, all the questions that had been raised, ready to be answered if he just opened the book.

Ford’s face fell, the book shifting from hand to hand before he tapped it and looked back up at his brother with a sheepish smile.

“You know… I think this one can wait awhile. What say you to finding another anomaly to follow in rather… warmer waters?”

Stan blinked at him in surprise, his mouth opening and closing for a second in a remarkable impression of a goldfish. “Well, I’m not sure what I said- you know what, I’m not gonna ask.” He shook himself, grinning cheekily. “That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard from you since we landed on this godforsaken rock. Which way are we headed?”

Ford opened his mouth to respond but interrupted himself with a jaw-breaking yawn. “I think I’ll leave that up to you if you’re up for it. I think I spy a nap in my immediate future.”

Stan couldn’t help but let out a laugh, bold and loud and bright, washing away the dregs of the night before as Ford found himself sleepily smiling along with him.

“Wow, I didn’t know I could actually watch you get any smarter, Poindexter. I’ve never heard you sound so smart.”

“Oh be quiet, Knucklehead.”

“Yeah, yeah, go to bed, nerd, before you fall asleep standing.”

Ford shook his head, stumbling over to the cabin without a second thought as Stan stomped happily across the deck, whistling all the while. It was only as he hit the threshold that he realised the book was still in his hands. He stared down at it for a few moments again, flipping it over to read the back.

If he wanted to, he could read it now and Stan would never be the wiser.

He stared down tiredly for a few dazed moments, blinking owlishly as his curiosity tugged insistently again behind the blanket of sleep that was engulfing him. He debated whether to settle down and read, ignore his need for sleep like he had done many times before over the years when research was far too important to ignore.

The boat shifted beneath his feet, making him stumble sideways in his exhaustion, gripping the desk in a moment of shock. He glanced upwards as the boat turned, the lighthouse once again within his sights, far more imposing and ominous than he had thought the day before when he had first laid eyes on it.

And just for a moment, as the light caught the glass and he squinted at the brightness, he was almost sure he saw a dark figure stood on the small gallery, a faint silhouette watching them leave.

The urge to blink, to rub his eyes and check again was sorely tempting.

_Sometimes a ghost is just a ghost._

Instead he yawned, turning his back on the lighthouse without another thought.

He slipped the book back into the small shelf, tapping it a few times in thought before nodding and wobbling over to his bunk.

“No more ghosts, at least not today.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: And done! This is still titled 'drabble’ on the document I was working on cause it was never meant to be anything this big… XD But hey! All the more for you guys to read so I hope you enjoyed! I’m going to leave it as it is, guys, now it’s up to you whether you want to be as curious as Ford or let the mystery stay unresolved.
> 
> This was based on a true story, one that is best told by the Lore podcast - I just wondered what kind of ghosts you’d find if the lighthouse had stayed standing after what happened there.  
> Not gonna lie, the story stayed in my head for a while, hence needing to get it out of my head and on to paper.


End file.
